The First Paladin of Gnomeregan

It was a particularly cold night in Dun Morogh. A powerful blizzard had swept across the landscape, sending drifts of snow across the empty roads. Only a few scant patrols of mountaineers seemed to be out, their green cloaks barely visible from the landscape made pure white. That’s why Innkeeper Belm was pleasantly surprised when he heard the door of Thunderbrew Distillery swing open, an unexpected piece of business in the sleepy town of Kharanos. 

In walked a gnome, a few furs wrapped around his heavy armour, carrying a mace over his shoulder. He came right up to the table, hopped up - he had to hop, as he was on the shorter side, even by the standards of a gnome - and placed his weapon gently against the table. He made sure not to leave a scratch. Next, he removed his helmet, placing it reverently at his side. His attitude was far from the average gnome, so typically upbeat and jovial that they made the dwarves that shared their homeland look positively sour. Which they were quite often, to be fair.

Of course, being an innkeeper, Belm had seen his share of strange newcomers to Kharanos. He walked over to the new customer, cleaning a mug of ale the only other visitor in the inn had just finished. “What could I get for yeh?” he asked gruffly, the coziness of the Kharanos inn not quite extending to its owner. 

“Might you have any of your famous beer basted boar ribs?” the gnome asked, referring to an old family recipe of Belm’s that had grown quite popular. “A warrior of the light needs to maintain his strength with a hearty meal!”

“Warrior of the light?” the dwarf parroted. He looked past the gnome towards the door, seeing it remained shut. “Do yeh have a friend joining you?”

The gnome held up a hand in acknowledgement, closing his eyes. “I understand. You likely don’t see many paladins of my stature. I do not take it as a slight, my good innkeeper.”

Belm thought right away that perhaps it would have been better if he had closed up shop early this evening. A gnome paladin… Over the years, he’d served any number of would-be heroes, adventurers, even the occasional warlock, but at least most still seemed to have their wits about them. “Well, I’ve been running this inn for many a year, and never once have I heard of a gnomish paladin,” he said. 

“Ah, and rightly so. I am Minimillian of Gnomeregan!” the gnome said with a flair of triumph. “The first of my kind!”

“First of yer kind,” Belm repeated again. “Well, I’m sure you wield the light just as well as any human or dwarf,” he said, humouring him. 

“You don’t believe me,” Minimillian stated.

Belm breathed a heavy sigh. Should have closed up early, he thought. “The boar ribs you said, right lad?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“I’m telling the truth,” the gnome said emphatically.

“Wait a moment.” Belm finished cleaning the mug and poured himself some Thunderbrew of which the distillery was named. The old dwarf felt he needed it. He then pulled up a chair at the table across the way from the gnome and took a seat. “Look here. The gnomes, they’re a versatile people. Seen ‘em make some strange and wonderful gadgets, master spells, summon demons…” Belm leaned in close. “Look at that one in the corner,” he said pointing to the only other soul in the inn. Sitting in a heavily stuffed clear near the fire, a mechagnome sat twirling his robotic hands, completely transfixed on the gadgets that had become his limbs. “He’s half machine! And you know what? He told me he’s trained in Pandaria to be a monk. Showed me a thing or two. Says he’s ‘mastering the science of the punch,’ or some such nonsense. Yeh gnomes can do a lot o’ things, I know - but master the light? Pah!”

Minimillian was undeterred. He’d been brushing off these disbelieving comments for ages now. This was just another in the pile. “May I tell you a tale? Surely once you hear it, you’ll have no other explanation but for the powers of the light within me!” He held up one fist as if expecting a pillar of light to come down through the inn and paint him in glory. No such thing happened, and the dwarf just wondered further if there had ever been a stranger couple of occupants than there were today.

“Might as well tell me,” the dwarf said, taking a massive swig and doing nothing about the foam that became trapped in his beard. 

Immediately, Minimillian pushed his chair back and leapt from the table, picking up his hammer and striking a pose. His hand ran from one side to the other above his head, as if painting the picture of his story. “The snowy hills of Dun Morogh! Beauty, quiet… and danger!”

“Shoulda locked the blasted door…” the dwarf grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“I led a party of three - a brave dwarven hunter,” he said, miming holding a gun, “a dastardly warlock,” he said transitioning to pretending to cast a spell, “and I, a stalwart paladin.”

“Right. Paladin.”

“Right, paladin!” Minimillian repeated, removing the tone that was dripping with sarcasm. “We were tasked with defeating the ice troll menace near Brewnall Village. We were ambushed! A great troll, tall as a dwarven bunker and built just as strong, threw a weighty axe at my warlock companion. While I struck down the troll with the blessings of the light, the warlock was laid low. It hit him square in the shoulder. Blood! Pain! I rushed to his side, calling for the light to help him. I held my hands over his wounds, calling, calling! And finally, the light came to my side, and sealed his wounds!” He placed his hands on the table, looking the innkeeper square in the eyes. “What else could it be but a blessing? I called, and it answered. A paladin’s healing.”

Belm leaned back in his chair, taking another swig of ale, and put the mug back on the table. “Now, I’ve had plenty of adventurers come through this way. Thinkin’ I might remember one or two warlocks have come in as well. After getting to chatting with a couple, they’d tell me about these funny little rocks they carry. ‘Healthstones,’ they call ‘em. Something about empowering something with souls, and life-forces, and… bah, goes over my head. But I know they heal themselves with the things. Did yeh see his hands, lad? Might just be one of those funny rocks.”

Minimilliam didn’t respond at first. He just stared, wide-eyed, intent. Then, very abruptly, he started again. “A second tale, surely something to convince even the most skeptical of dwarven innkeepers!”

“Bah, here we go, then,” Belm said, sitting back. His mug was running empty. He felt he’d need more. A lot more.

“We continued our travels through the snow, hoping to find their leader - when suddenly a trap was sprung! In my thirst for righteous vengeance, I walked unwittingly into a vast emptiness of snow the trolls had left to seal us in a frozen tomb! Shivering, covered in the frozen pit, I called upon the light to free me from the trap they had set! Give me freedom from these bonds, I yelled out! And just like that, in but a moment after, I was walking forward again, unbound, determined… the marching crusade of a paladin.” He nodded solemnly, like he had told a story of a powerful hero of old, surely one that would strike the dwarf as inspirational. 

The old dwarf was unimpressed. “Lad, I hate to tell yeh, but I think yeh just walked into a snowbank and got yer tiny little self stuck. And only for a moment at that.”

“Not at all!” the gnome said, his voice rising again. “It was the power of the light that had freed its champion from the wretched traps of the mischievous trolls! But if you need more proof, I have a final tale that will surely convince you.”

Belm held up a hand. “Hold on, I’ll be needin’ to refill-”

“We had found the troll leader!” Minimillian said, jumping from his chair again. “Our dwarf saw him first. He held his gun up, saying ‘agh, I could fire a bullet through the lot of ‘em and-”

“Don’t do the accent,” Belm warned. 

Minimillian paused. “He said he saw the troll, that is. He fired upon him, wounding the troll warlord, but not enough to lay him low! I rushed at him, swinging my mace with the power of righteousness on my side! Still, the troll was strong, and thrusting forward with a spear he would have surely killed the brave, gnomish paladin! It went right towards my neck and shoulder, ready to send me to the next life - but I was saved by a brilliant light that surrounded me, rendering me immune to any of his savage blows! Afterwards, we made short work of him. Saved, again, by the powers of the light.” Minimillian sat, crossed his arms, and looked confidently at the dwarf, urging him to even dare try to dispute such a clear, obvious statement of fact. 

“Your left shoulder, I reckon?” the dwarf asked.

“Why, indeed it was.”

“And where’d you get your armour?” he said, inspecting the plate shoulder pads the gnome wore. Think I might recognize who made it. Get it from Bengus? Runs a blacksmith shop in Ironforge. Bengus Deepforge. Do yeh know him?” the dwarf asked. The gnome didn’t yet follow the purpose of the question.

“Well, you must be very astute. I did indeed have him make a few pieces for me.”

“Agh, now that’s quality. He makes the best! That’s why when the troll thrust that spear, it only left that big scratch down your left side, there,” he said, his hand pointing to a mark clear as day across his shoulder, something that looked like it very much could have been made by a spear.

The gnome inspected it closely. “Must have been from an old battle… a warrior of the light travels far, and-”

“That’s it!” the dwarf said, having enough. He sat up from his chair and refilled his mug of Thunderbrew from one of the many casks in the inn. Downing it in one mighty swig, he slammed his hand down on the table - and then slammed the empty mug right on top of it. He yelled out in pain and shook his fingers as the gnome watched on in shock and surprise. “Now - my fingers are hurtin’ all to hell. You’re a paladin, you say? Heal ‘em.” He slammed his hand down again, even that hurting more than he let on.

“Well, I’ve just fought a great number of battles recently, and I’m-”

“Yeh say yer a paladin, well, my fingers are aching.” Belm looked at him sternly, square in the eyes.

Minimillian nodded. He placed both of his palms atop Belm’s hand, whispering gently for the light. His hands were still freezing from the outside, hardly able to bend his fingers, and it chilled Belm’s throbbing fingers. He urged the light to help, waited, waited, certain it would help the dwarf to heal.

A few minutes passed with Minimillian quietly beseeching the light and Belm looking on in frustration. Finally, the gnome released the fingers. “Well, let’s see if yer- hmm.” They still hurt, surely, but certainly not as much as they had just a moment before. “Huh. Well, lad, I’ve got to say, they don’t hurt like they did a moment ago.” He tentatively flexed the hand he struck with the mug. “Still doesn’t feel great, but at my age, few things do.”

Minimillian sat back in his chair, looking as confident as ever before. “Take my blessing. Now I can tell your tale, one of the disbelieving innkeeper, and the gnome healer who saved his broken hand so he could still work in the establishment through which he made a living, the-”

“Alright, alright,” the dwarf grumbled again. “Tell whatever ya want. I’ll get the ribs.”

 

The Fury of Nature

 

           The pair began their meditation under the light of the morning sun, just as it crested the hills of Red Rocks in the northeast reaches of Mulgore. The dew still clung to the grass, the gentle breeze making their long, tauren manes shift and shimmer in the sunlight, the quiet, lapping waves of Stonebull Lake providing a gentle backdrop. It was the peace and serenity that Ahtomo and Vivillin lived for. Yet, there was something unsettling in spite of the beauty of the early hours. 

Ahtomo sensed it first. Something on the breeze, acrid, distant. Standing up from his spot in the dirt, his hooves just barely touching the water of the southern edge of Stonebull lake, he asked the elements to guide the wind his way but for a moment, hoping they would tell him of the disturbance. The light breeze turned to a great gust, and the rush of wind did exactly as he hoped. Whatever it was came from the north, just past the lake and beyond the reaches of Bloodhoof Village. It was the smell of fire and the burning of the dead.

“Come,” he said, nudging Vivillin who was lying on her back in the grass, spreading her arms out to enjoy the splendor of nature. It felt wrong to disturb her peace, but it could be dire news. 

She sat up slowly, blinking emerald eyes matching the plains. “What is it?” she asked. As she sat up, the spot she was lying in had actually grown longer instead of being pressed flat, such was the power of a druid. That, and more grass had found its way to tangle into her hair, a trait Ahtomo always found endearing. “We had only just begun our meditation. Is it urgent?”

“I cannot say. The Earthmother has told me only that something is wrong. What that something is, I do not know.” Ahtomo grunted, just as frustrated as his druid companion that their meditation was broken. “We should tell Baine immediately.”

Vivillin smiled at her partner, seeking to calm him. “Let’s not act too quickly. We might as well inspect it ourselves before we report it. At the very least, we get a walk around the lake together.”

Ahtomo paused for a moment, letting the chill of the morning air calm his nerves. He was not afraid to fight for the honour of his tribe as he had done in the past, but he was wary of rushing in unprepared. While the ancestors and the elements had given him tremendous prowess in battle as a shaman, even a powerful tauren can be bested by many enemies. His hand went instinctively to his one broken horn. Long ago, he had charged in recklessly against a marauding band of centaur that was attacking a tauren village. Realizing too late that the odds were against him, he was quickly surrounded. Fighting valiantly, he was rescued by chance and fate as the orcs led by Warchief Thrall had arrived in Kalimdor to support the hard-pressed tauren. They had been honourable, loyal allies since. Ahtomo had never forgotten their friendship, nor the lesson he learned that day.

Vivillin didn’t miss Ahtomo’s thumb reaching the broken end of the horn, and could quickly sense his thoughts. “We’ll move carefully. We have the ancestors, the elements and the power of nature on our side.” She patted his arm. “Plus, big tauren muscles.”

The shaman smiled warmly. She was right. “I could use the walk anyway.” Behind them, a group of plainstriders ran effortlessly through the  tall grass. “There are worse ways to spend a morning than a stroll through Mulgore.” 

--

They could see the signs well before they saw the wreckage. Drifting smoke arose out of a broken caravan. The transport was toppled over, wreckage strewn about the area. Such a peaceful spot of tranquillity spoiled by such violence.

“Can you get a closer look?” Vivillin asked.

“Always,” Ahtomo replied. His eyes glossed over as he used the gift of far sight to scout the camp at a distance. A number of goblins and ogres, the former guiding the latter, wandered the wreckage. They were attempting to stamp out the fires that were left behind in an attempt to salvage whatever goods still remained. From what he could tell, the fires were started not by them, but by the tauren. There had been a battle here, of which the Bloodhoof appeared to be the victors. Having travelled from Camp Narache the previous night, they had not yet heard the news of any fight, but the signs were clear.

Emblazoned on the side of the caravan were big, bold letters: “Venture Company,” he said aloud for Vivillin’s sake. 

She knew them well. They were the antithesis of all that she believed in. Where she gave thanks for every gift the land bestowed upon her and her tribe, they saw fit to strip it bare of any resource it held. They’d ravage the landscape, tearing it asunder for the sake of their own personal gain, regardless of whatever inhabitants - be it tauren, human, or even other goblins - lived in the region. Their greedy little fingers reached for everything of value. She gritted her teeth at the thought of the morally bankrupt creatures. If the Venture Company refused to abide by the law of the land, then she would see to it that they pay dearly for every inch they tried to take.

Ahtomo blinked and allowed his sight to return to his body. Vivillin grabbed him by the shoulder; to send one’s vision to another spot was always briefly disconcerting, and he would always appreciate a hand to keep him steady. Shaking his head to reorient himself, his long mane shimmered with small feathers he had tied into it, a representation of the honour and pride of his people. He looked to the druid at his side. A simple nod was all it took from each of them. They both knew in an instant that they would be raiding the camp and ridding the land of those that sought to profit from its gifts. 

“Five goblins, poorly equipped. One ogre. All I could see.”

“You handle the ogre, I’ll take the little ones?” Vivillin asked. 

“Yes. Lets go.”

---

“Fizsprocket will have our heads if we don’t find those blueprints!” the lead goblin called out, having returned to the place he had hardly escaped from with his life. Already, the losses of goblins and supplies would be enough to get his supervisor in hysterics, but to lose the means to create the drill they had buried deep in eastern Mulgore? He’d rather walk into the tauren village than report that. “It’s in a safe. The thing’s fireproof, keep looking!” His words were pointless. They all knew what they were searching for already, and being a part of the same crew and thus susceptible to the same punishments, they were no less frantic. 

“Agh!” 

Oh, what now? They only had so much time to find it before they were expected to meet Fizsprocket. He pulled out another piece of rubble and threw it away, seeing the small safe was not in that spot. Thinking it best to ensure the other goblins were working and not lying down on the job, he looked just beyond the still smoldering ruins of the caravan to see what had caused the commotion. 

Razzik lay face down with three sharp cuts deep across his back.

Blasted wildlife. I don’t get paid enough for this… the goblin thought. Opting not to alert the rest of the goblins that seemed still diligent in their search, he opted to leave that one to whatever animal had killed him. He’d still be dead in a moment anyway, and as the goblins say, time is money.

“Ahhugh!” 

“Oh, what now?” he called out, running to the other side of the caravan where the new call had come from. He saw a glimpse of a great cat running back into the tall grass. In its wake was the body of another goblin - what was her name? Hardly mattered - strewn about the ground. Lucky him, though! Right near her body was the safe! It turns out the mission was a success after all, just so long as he could get it back to Fizsprocket. 

He ran over to it, prying it out of the dirt and debris. Just as he unearthed it, another goblin cried out in pain. At this point, he wondered if he had been encircled by a whole team of predators. “Where’s that ogre? Ogre! Here!” he yelled, trying to find the big oaf that was brought here as both carrying muscle and protection. 

The lumbering ogre ran up to him, its massive belly shaking with every step. “Somethin’ killin’ our guys, boss,” he said. “I wanna stomp ‘em!”

“Look, big guy. You can forget the other goblins. This baby is all we need!” he said, patting the safe. He opened it to remove the plans inside, tucking them safely into his vest. “What you’ve got to do is get me out of here. If the rest of the goblins don’t make it, well, less of a prize to divvy up. Now let’s split before we get split! Head to the mines!”

They took off, hearing another goblin groan in pain behind them. He hardly made it ten steps before a jolt almost knocked him off his feet. He looked behind him to see his ogre momentarily stunned. A bolt of lightning had shot towards them not from the sky, but rather from just across from them - a tauren shaman, not twenty yards away. “Well, go get him, you lummox!” the goblin called, slipping into the grass and running off. That tauren was awfully big, and that lightning bolt packed a punch. He wasn’t even hit and it almost knocked him off his feet. He decided to leave the ogre to fend for himself. After all, he had plans to deliver. 

--

The ogre rushed forward, having recovered from the lightning, albeit a bit singed. Ahtomo called upon the spirits of fire to help him once again, blasting the ogre in the chest with the power of the elements. Still, it came forward, swinging a huge mallet, one that could easily squish a goblin and still break the bone of a tauren. He came within feet of him before Vivillin returned, her presence marked by a beam of brilliant light that descended upon the ogre and burned his skin - the fury of the moon itself. Suddenly, the ogre looked unsure who to attack. Bolts of green energy flew from the hands of Vivillin as streaks of lightning ripped through the air from Ahtomo. The hesitation meant the ogre didn’t stand a chance. Their combined assault felled him quickly as he stumbled and toppled backwards into the high grass. 

“There was another,” Vivillin said. “He looked to be the leader. He ran off towards the east, through the grass.”

Again, they needed not say another word. In sync, they transformed into their animal forms, the druid into the cat from before and the shaman into an ethereal wolf. Both travelled the plains much faster than the small legs of a goblin, and try as he might, he would not escape them. It wasn’t long before they caught up to him, making short work of the fleeing goblin. He had almost made it; they arrived at the entrance of a mine shaft, the clanging of tools and the smell of smoke and soot flooding out of the opening. It was here that the Venture Company had set up camp, and it was here the goblin went to deliver whatever he had with him.

Ahtomo flipped the tiny goblin corpse over. “What cowardly creatures to abandon their comrades and flee when they were most in need,” the shaman said with open disdain. “There’s no honour in these goblins.”

“Only greed,” Vivillin agreed. 

Ahtomo searched the goblin and found the blueprint. They looked over it together, seeing a scrawled image of a massive drill, the required parts, the means to put it together, and any number of important details. 

“Now this…” the druid said, “This may be a time to return to Baine and tell him what we’ve found here.” They were lucky to have found it. The entire cliffside was covered in dense tree cover, so much so the entrance could hardly be seen. It was good fortune that the goblin had happened to lead them right to it.

Ahtomo scowled. With each clanging of metal on ore, he could hear the earth suffering, calling out for aid. The Earthmother had provided him with everything he had. To abandon it now, even for a time, even if he meant to return, he would feel he would be no better than the goblin who fled the fight the same way. He looked out to the rolling hills, the towering mesa of Thunder Bluff looking down upon him, the heavy feet of a pack of kodo that marched proudly across the landscape. “I cannot. I have to go in. I have to put a stop to this, here and now.”

Vivillin grabbed his hand and held it tightly. “The earth calls to you,” she said knowingly. Ahtomo nodded grimly. “I’m not in tune with the elements as you are, but I am with the land as a whole. The nature of this place is being disrupted by these invaders. It seeks my aid as well.” She took a deep breath, sure that the decision she was making was the right one. “I’m coming with you.”

“Together, then,” Ahtomo agreed.

“Always together.”

---

Tauren could only move so quietly, their large frames not allowing the possibility of stealth. Still, they came within a casting distance of the two sleepy goblin guards outside the entrance of the mine, growing complacent in their tedious guard duty. Vivillin motioned a count of three, and they each fired a bolt of their respective magic gifted by the earth towards the goblins. They never knew what hit them.

The inside of the mine was dark, dusty and hot. Goblin chatter and the rolling of mine carts created a loud, claustrophobic atmosphere, so out of place in a vast, empty land such as Mulgore. However, even in the dark, two large tauren in a sea of goblins were far from inconspicuous. The first that saw them abandoned their posts and ran hollering for guards to support them. Soon, wave after wave of goblins came after the pair. 

Ahtomo fired another bolt of lightning at the first that approached, the elemental force spreading from one goblin to the next and felling three in one brilliant motion. Vivillin fared just as well, beckoning forth roots that had dug into the earth as deep as the opening of the mine shaft and beseeching them for their aid. Quickly, the roots expanded and reached the feet of the goblins, holding them in place as they watched helplessly as she destroyed them with druidic magic. 

“There are many!” Ahtomo called out, both he and Vivillin growing weary from the endless casting. Images of the centaur surrounding his ill-fated charge years ago flooded his memory. He shook his head. It could not happen again.

Knowing they had to slow the attacking force, Vivillin took the form of a powerful bear, her fur enough to ward off most of their blows. But only most; working in tandem, Ahtomo summoned a totem of the earth to make their skin as tough as stone. Now, the goblins had two deterrents to their tiny weapons; the mighty fur of the bear and the totem's enhancement enough to make her all but impervious to their attacks. 

Still, to ward them off they needed to stay on the offensive. “Winds, guide me!” Ahtomo yelled as he enchanted his mace with the spirits of air. The element was fickle, however, and only occasionally would it bless him with its power, making his swings so swift as to strike multiple times in the blink of an eye. When it did, the raw power of several blows at once would almost crush a goblin flat. 

Vivillin, meanwhile, knew the dust was clouding their vision and the darkness of the mine obscured the tiny figures running around them. She shifted out of the form of the bear and doused the attackers in faerie fire, making them easily visible and lowering their defenses. Easier to target, they made short work of them. The last goblins finally fled at the sight of the exhausted, powerful tauren force, working so brilliantly as a cohesive whole. 

“Together, as you said,” Vivillin remembered. 

“As a team,” Ahtomo agreed. 

“Still more to go, however. The goblin we had chased - I heard him mention a foreman by the name of... Fizsprocket.” The goblin names always confused her. “If we stop him, we may yet put an end to the Venture Company in Mulgore.”

“Then you know what we must do.”

They searched the cavernous mineshaft, walking along the planks set out for the movement of carts of ore and removing fragments of stone and rock. They had ravaged this mountainside, stripping it of its worth and leaving it hollowed and empty. Both of the tauren, for each their own reasons, similar yet unique, found the actions taken by these goblins reprehensible. They knew not one would give thanks for the bounty they received, not one would care of the damage they had wrought. 

The goblins that now fled from their path should consider themselves lucky. 

It wasn’t long before they came upon a vast, empty chasm. As they entered, they both stood aghast at what they saw. Countless goblins ran about, circling around a colossal drill in the centre, presently inactive. Atop a platform stood a single goblin, marked by a yellow hardhat. He called out to the others, sending them this way and that, clearly the lead in the grim operation. 

“Fizsprocket,” Ahtomo said. 

A few of the goblins spotted them and called to the others. Immediately, the whole operation came to a halt, all eyes suddenly on the two tauren invaders. Fizsprocket took notice as well, leaning casually on the edge of his wooden platform, one arm over the other. “Hey! What’d you two do to my guards? How’d you get in here?”

“They’re closer to the earth now than they deserve,” Vivillin responded coldly. 

“Thinking that means you killed ‘em, eh? Ah, well, they were eating up money in their wages anyhow. So listen - you two found your way in here, clearly got the muscles, big strong tauren, I get that. How about I offer you a deal?” The rest of the goblins slowed, listening to a proposal instead of a call to arms. “How about you work for me? Replace those two guards out there! You two can be a part of something big!”

“And what use do you think gold would do us?” Ahtomo called out, incensed. “Will it help the grass to grow? Will the sun shine brighter in Mulgore?”

“Nah! But you can pay to get some shade!” The goblin laughed at his own humour, his cackling voice echoing in the empty chambers. 

“I have an idea,” Vivillin whispered. “This whole place is covered with trees just above it. I can-”

“I understand,” Ahtomo interrupted. “Loud and clear.”

Vivillin called upon the spirits of nature to bring their roots up from the ground. She begged them for their assistance, knowing that this would indeed be a great sacrifice. As they did, the ground became loose, their anchoring roots no longer providing the structure they had once before. Ahtomo then called upon the earth to rattle and quake, tapping into the element’s anger at the goblin menace. 

“Hey, hey! What’re you doing here?” the foreman yelled as rocks and dirt began falling from the rooftop. His wooden platform began to shake and shift, threatening to send him flying off it. “I’ll offer double! Triple! The life of luxury - you’ll have whatever you want!”

Finally, the roof of the cavern collapsed, bringing tons of dirt and debris atop the goblins and the terrible machine. While they dug into the land, they held no appreciation for the power it held simply by existing, the force of nature and the elements being stronger than even the greatest of goblin technology. Quickly, they fled before the tunnels that held them collapsed as well, certain the earth and roots would hold long enough for them to escape.

They left the mine coughing and hacking, covered in dust and dirt. Still, they were pleased. They had disrupted the mining operation and sent the Venture Company running. Exiting the mine, it all felt so normal again, the sun now high in the sky. Its warmth bathed them in brilliant light. Stonebull lake once again seemed peaceful in the distance, and the watchful eye of Thunder Bluff still remained at its rightful place at the top of the great mesas in the distance. 

“Did you hear what the goblin offered?” Vivillin asked. 

Ahtomo laughed, remembering now. “A life of luxury, I believe. What more could one want than this?” he said, drawing his arm across the beautiful, endless plains. “What a shame that some cannot see the beauty that nature provides.”

“That’s why we must fight for it. I fear we’ll always be fighting for it,” Vivillin said with a hint of sadness. 

A touch of anger built up in Ahtomo, knowing that there would always be those that refused to show the proper respect for the gifts that the world provided. In his hand he pulled up the dirt and earth beneath him, grasping it tightly in a mighty fist. 

Vivillin put her hand atop it. Using her druidic strength, she helped the plant life within it to sprout and grow, tiny buds peeking out from in between Ahtomo’s fingers. The earth he held, rooted in place by the plants nature grew, providing the nutrients in which those same plants flourished. Working in tandem, just as they did. 

“I believe you’re right, Vivillin. We may be fighting our whole lives for it. But I can assure you, as long as I’m able, I’ll be fighting at your side.”

“And I, at yours,” she agreed. 

They sat and watched the clouds pass over the quiet grasslands of Mulgore, content that they had brought it to peace once again. Finally, they had a moment of rest to enjoy the meditation from the morning. Quiet and serene, just as they liked it.

The Woodpecker of Westfall

Gyran Stoutmantle could almost feel another of the last dark hairs atop his head turning grey as Áuratus stepped forward, sword proudly over her shoulder and positively beaming. He straightened his back, feeling a couple pops that hadn’t been there before. Quietly, he reminded himself of the honour he had been given in being provided the position at Sentinel Hill, Westfall’s bastion of Alliance strength. He hoped that prestige would provide him the seriousness not to snicker at another one of her quips. He’d made that mistake once, and never heard the end of it. 

Áuratus was the kind of paladin that was everything Gyran Stoutmantle wasn’t. Where he was calm and methodical, she was quick-thinking and brash. Where he would exercise caution, she would throw it to the wind. While he was the embodiment of the stoic, serious paladin, she was of a new breed of adventuresome, joyous holy warrior. They carried the same title as paladin, occupied the same dry, unruly land, and hailed from the same city of Stormwind, but they could not be more different. 

Yet, he had tremendous respect for the young lady. While sometimes her methods and manner of battle were… unorthodox… she was undeniably effective. While she strolled up the hill towards his post, a weathered old guard tower holding a vantage point over the flat farmlands of Westfall, he wholeheartedly expected her to be bringing tidings of success.

“Gyran!” she called out to him, holding both arms wide, sword included. 

“Captain Stoutmantle would suffice,” he grumbled. 

“Indeed it would. But where’s the fun in that?” Áuratus flashed him a big smile. He felt another hair on his head change colour. Next, they’ll start falling out. He hoped he would look passable as a bald man.

He fumbled with a number of papers he had. “I believe I tasked you with disrupting the Defias highwaymen to the south of Moonbrook, if I’m not mistaken. How’d you fare?”

“Well,” she said with a casual sigh, “they put up quite a fight, but… I was a little confused. They’re highwaymen, and they’re hiding in the hills where no trade-routes pass. They didn’t live up to their name, if I say so myself.”

“Hmpff. Good point. Nevertheless, I’m glad to hear it. That gives you yet another success in a long chain of them now. You dispatched the smugglers at Furlbrow’s pumpkin patch…”

“Of which I received no pumpkin-based goods, I will add.”

“...you disrupted the looters at Gold Coast Quarry…”

“Only bronze and tin down there. Who names these places?”

“...and you’ve provided a number of Defias masks as proof of your deeds.”

She inspected the blade of her sword. “I couldn’t keep them. Masks are more of a ‘rogue’ thing if you ask me.”

“Well, the people of Westfall would like to thank you again.” Gyran wondered if Áuratus was still paying attention as she closed one eye and stared down the blade of her weapon. “We… hope you like your new sword.”

“The Edge of the People’s Militia! It’s certainly sharper than most of the folks that thought harvest golems were a good idea.” Whatever she was looking for, it seemed to pass the test for her approval. She slung the sword over her shoulder again and stood up straight as if finally deciding she would more officially report for duty. “Ready for whatever comes next, cap’!”

Stoutmantle slightly bit his lip at the abbreviation of his title. Again, he reminded himself of how successful Áuratus - Aura, as she called herself - had been. Westfall had seen many hardships, and he could hardly fault one of his most hardworking, earnest paladins for being unconventional in speech. That said, he also wondered how he’d look with a full head of grey.

“Well, Áuratus, you’re in luck if you’re looking for more work. We’ve received reports that the Defias hideout is somewhere in the hills near where you disposed of the 'highwaymen'. We’ll need you to escort a prisoner who is willing to lead us right to it. I believe you may find him familiar.” He walked into the tower, out of the Westfall sun and into the old, dusty quarters of the old, dusty tower. Beckoning her to follow, he pointed to a man locked into a pillory. 

A deeply balding man with long red hair running along the back and sides looked up from the wooden contraption holding him in place. She had indeed met him. He had been trying to rob the Saldeans of their wagon when she caught him red handed. Always willing to deliver justice before warfare, she gave him an ultimatum, telling him that he could let a judge throw the book at him or take a swing of her sword. It was his call. He chose the former. She thought it was a wise move. 

“You’re to walk this prisoner to wherever the hideout is located,” Gyran explained. “You must be cautious, however. Moonbrook has been overrun by the Defias, and they’re likely not going to take kindly to the traitor in their midst.”

The prisoner overheard. He couldn’t make out the figure standing in the entryway, the daylight silhouetting Aura’s frame. “So Stoutmantle sends a scrawny-” Aura’s free hand, covered in a metal gauntlet, tapped the Stormwind guard legplates she had been gifted after besting the great gnoll Hogger in Elwynn, a habit that came through whenever she had the urge to swing her sword in anger. Tap tap tap, in rapid succession. Tap tap tap. “Oh, it’s you again,” the prisoner said knowingly. “Well, the People’s Militia must be puttin’ some faith in my words if they’re going to send the Woodpecker out with me.”

Gyran raised his eyebrows. So did Áuratus, for that matter. “The Woodpecker?” they asked in unison.

“Don’t even know your own moniker?” the prisoner said, chuckling. “The Defias know you well. That tapping always marks your arrival. After that, we’d always lose a few. Heard about it at Gold Coast, heard about it at Furlbrow’s… heard it myself at Saldean’s.”

“And here I thought they knew me for my charm,” Aura said, fluttering her eyelashes.

 The prisoner scowled. “More for our dead.”

“I never once have swung my sword before offering surrender. Whether or not you accept is up to you.” She smiled. “Just look at you. You’re not cut to pieces. I’m as good as my word.”

“Lot of good it’s done me,” he said, shaking the pillory.

Gyran cleared his throat, through with the banter between the two. “The mission is clear, then? Escort the prisoner, report back with your findings. I can send the word out for recruits to accompany you, as well as formulate a battle plan in which to enter Moonbrook-”

Aura waved him off. “I can handle myself just fine. We can get started now.” She already started to loosen the bolts on the pillory. The prisoner stood up straight and shifted his neck and stretched his shoulders. Already, she was pushing him out the door and towards the southern path to Moonbrook. She was halfway to the path before Stoutmantle even had a chance to offer his best wishes or good luck. 

“Don’t worry, cap’, I’ll be quick!” she called back to Gyran as she gave the prisoner another nudge to keep the pace.

“Cap’, always cap’,” Gyran mumbled, shaking his head.

---

“They’re all cheats,” the prisoner said as they walked side by side along the dusty trail towards Moonbrook. “That’s why we’re still fighting. We got cheated by Stormwind, and we refused to bend the knee. We’d be put in chains the moment we surrendered anyway. They’ve left us no choice!”

“Oh, I agree,” Aura said. “At least about the chains… The law has this nasty habit of putting thieves and murders behind bars.” 

“We wouldn’t be in that position if we weren’t treated so poorly. Rebuilt Stormwind, we did. And look what we get now! Hiding away in some dusty old backwater, dodging coyotes and gnolls.”

“Now, I brought you in because you get to stand trial and say your piece. That’s what justice is. If the king declares that what you’ve done is not worthy of being sent to jail, you’ll be set free.” She looked around. “Plus, the coyotes aren’t so bad. The goretusks make a good pie, too.”

“Might be right about the pie. But to think that the king would set us free?” The prisoner laughed obnoxiously.

Áuratus shot him a nasty look. “Listen, the lot of you have taken to doing plenty of unsavoury things after the whole affair with Stormwind. Your problem is with them, yet you’re still looting the houses of honest farmers. You've got a grievance with the king, so you think that gives you justification to head on over to old Verna Furlbrow and steal her stew?” Áuratus’ stomach turned. Knowing what went into it did not make it go down any easier. Murloc eyes, by the light...

The prisoner scoffed, but otherwise didn’t have an answer. “If I’m so untrustworthy, why am I not in chains now, then?” he asked, holding up his hands to show they were indeed free. “Maybe I’m hiding a dagger. We’re alone on this trail. What would stop me?”

Aura laughed. “Well, me, for one. You try to come at me with a dagger and I’ll be throwing you right in the way of a harvest golem. Nasty threshing hands on those things,” she said, scratching at her arm that had taken a few hits while putting a couple of the malfunctioning machines down. “Plus, the moment we walk into Moonbrook, I’m your best shot.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, walking with me will show you’re a traitor. I’m your only chance.”

He gulped. “I hope you’re as good as you think you are.”

She slapped him on the back. “Me too.”

--

They approached Moonbrook without much of a fight. A few broken down harvest golems stood next to a poorly kept farmer’s field. Signs warning that any sympathetic to Stormwind will be killed on sight were patched haphazardly onto the sides of worn down buildings. It was a decidedly unfriendly place, and Áuratus found herself much more at the ready than before. It would be a miracle to go through without drawing too much attention. Of course, what fun would there be in that anyway?

She walked right through the centre of the town, past the former mayor’s office and an old blacksmith shop. The town was populated by vagrants and ne’er-do-wells, their shifty gazes falling on the pair and watching as they passed. All the while, she would tap out the same old rhythm on her legplate, making the prisoner instinctively cringe. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. The Woodpecker’s warning. Perhaps, to those that thought they were strong enough, a challenge.

As they passed by a schoolhouse they were spotted by two men and a woman loitering on the steps. “Hey!” one of the men called out, the three of them standing up and pulling their red linen masks over their faces, demonstrating their allegiances to the Defias. “Don’t think you’re in the right spot, now, are you? And - oh, don’t tell me - Clark Barlow, in the flesh.”

The traitor looked down sheepishly, afraid to meet the man’s gaze. He was a big one, a foot taller than the other two, and even under the mask one could tell he had a wicked smile. Sometimes a smirk doesn’t have to be seen, just felt. The other man was slender, skittish, more of a follower than a leader. The woman at their side was dressed in a long robe, likely a mage. 

“Sounds like you know the man I’m escorting,” Aura said as they surrounded the pair. “But… Clark, is it? Never asked your name. He’s with me. And while I would love to -” She paused for just a moment. “You were hanging outside a schoolhouse, weren’t you? Oh, that’s just too easy. Oh, fine, fine, I’ll indulge myself. I’d hate to have to ‘teach you a lesson.’”

“Ahh, we’ve got a smart one here, do we?” the woman said, her voice smooth and confident. “We’ll see if you still feel that way once we’re through.”

That was as clear of a challenge enough for Aura. As it always did before a fight, she found her fingers nervously tapping out that same quick rhythm on her legplates. 

“Oh,” the big one said, grinning wide beneath his mask. “Looks like the Woodpecker has paid us a visit.” He pulled out two daggers large enough to almost qualify as swords. “You’ve sent a lot of my friends to the stockades. Or the dirt.”

“Well,” she said, smiling, glancing again at the schoolhouse. “I guess I ‘taught’ them a thing or two.”

The big man roared in anger and lunged for the paladin, finding his clumsy attack easily deflected. She kicked out at his knee as he stumbled, sending him tumbling into the road. The heavy plated boots she wore were surely enough to crack a bone. “The first lesson would be not to run with knives,” Aura said.

The mage was next, crafting a bolt of frost from thin air. She was unable to release it, however, as Aura called upon the light to knock the caster temporarily woozy, causing her to lose her concentration. A quick jab with the pommel was enough to cause her to double over in pain. “Lesson two! Don’t play with fire.” Aura thought for a moment. “Or frost… Ah, the hell with it, it’s close enough.” 

She didn’t have time to make a better remark as the thin man made a half-hearted attempt to attack her himself, mostly trying to protect himself but save some face with his wounded friends. She used the hilt of her sword to hit him square in the nose as he lunged slowly, causing him to fall backwards clutching his face. His eyes watered from the hit.

“Blinded by the light!” she called out. “Ha! I’m back on track. Hear that one?” she asked Clark, who was shaking like a leaf. “Ah, my wit is wasted once again. You and Stoutmantle, you just don’t appreciate good humour,” she said pretending to pout. “As for the three of you! It’s your lucky day. I just have the time for one prisoner. Back to class, then!”

She left the three with their broken bones and shattered pride as they walked the rest of the way through Moonbrook, Áuratus tapping all the way. 

--

Soon, they came to an old mine shaft. Just past the outskirts of Moonbrook, it looked mostly abandoned. “That’s it,” Clark said. “The Defias hideout. Now, can we please get back before more of them find us, or the ones you hurt find their friends?”

“You mean to tell me that the great kingpin of the Defias, Edwin VanCleef, is sitting at the bottom of that mine?” Áuratus asked, incredulous. 

“With a whole bloody army.”

Aura put her ear up to the hideout. Distantly, she heard the clanging of mining picks and the cursing of guards. Very distantly, however. The musty, mostly empty place must have reached deep into the earth to be housing as many as he said. It wasn’t a job for today. As strong as she was, she wouldn’t be able to take on the full force of the Defias alone, even setting aside VanCleef. 

“Well, you’ve done your duty it seems,” she said. “I suppose we should head back. Can’t keep Gyran waiting. He’ll miss me.”

---

“And you’re certain that the whole Defias force is in that mine?” Stoutmantle asked, hardly believing it himself.

“I’m sure!” Clark responded.

“I’m not asking you, you- Áuratus, are you certain?”

“Sure seems that way. I’m ready to take them on whenever you’re willing to find the courage to send me.” She gave a quick salute, one that never looked quite right if you asked Gyran. 

“This’ll take time, young paladin,” Stoutmantle urged, cautious as ever. “We must gather our forces, and send a small tactical team to take out the head of the operation. Unfortunately, we can’t afford to dedicate too many, supplies such as they are. It could take weeks to gather the proper group. Be patient. This is not something we should rush.”

Two other adventurers came up the hill the same way Aura had prior to escorting the prisoner. One, a human wearing the robes of a priest. The other, a night elf druid, choosing to walk in the form of a great bear. Each had a number of red linen bandanas; the bear had hers wrapped around her legs and neck, a walking sign of triumph over the Defias. 

“Hi,” Áuratus said with a quick wave. “Are you two busy? Got a task that needs doing.” Her hand fell to her side. 

Tap tap tap.